


The Cold Tea

by melonkis



Series: The Cold Tea [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25407106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonkis/pseuds/melonkis
Summary: “I am perfectly sure everything will get back to normal without my interference”, Sherlock eventually replied in an oddly calm tone.“Yeah, it’s a possibility. There’s also a possibility that you will try to fix things up and it’ll turn out to be too late. And there will be no more Mollys to save you from falling from a roof.” // The Final Problem from Molly's POV and its aftermath.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Cold Tea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859932
Comments: 67
Kudos: 144





	1. The Counter in Lemon

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm not native English, I have absolutely no idea how to write in English. But you'll figure it out once you start reading this thing. I hope you'll enjoy it... somehow.
> 
> I'm considering the number of parts it should have. Three or four, I haven't made up my mind yet.

“Hello, Sherlock.”

She finally answered the call, although she tapped the green button with a heavy heart. She put a lot of effort in trying not to sound sad.

“Is this urgent? Because I’m not having a good day.” Her voice sounded gloomy anyway.

When she woke up this morning, she felt a certain heaviness in everything she was doing. The lab seemed strange, she was working in an auto-mode. She might not have a memory palace, but her body definitely had a muscle memory and was able to work with her brain detached.

“Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why”, Sherlock said fast as usual.

No “hello”, no “how are you doing”. Molly was used to his obnoxious behaviour but that day it only worsened her already bad mood. She wasn’t willing to deal with his craziness and arrogance. Not after all the tears she cried once she got back home from work. Not after realising it was another pathetic day of her lonely life. Another day of loving a person that could not care less about her.

_You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you._

What a bunch of lies. She was useful to him in the best case scenario. She could show him bodies that should not be shown or let him use the lab equipment. She was the necessary leverage in his battle with Moriarty, but this was the only reason he wanted to spend an entire day with her - to thank her. On the rest of the days he was just manipulative as always. She didn’t matter to him in any sort of personal meaning of this word.

Usually, she would become his minion one more time, but that day she wasn’t going to play along.

“Oh, God, is this one of your _stupid_ games?”

“It’s not a... game, I need you to help me”. His voice suddenly softened a bit, leading Molly to confusion.

“Well, I’m not at the lab-“

“It’s not about that”, he interrupted in a strangely nervous tone.

The nervousness got to her as well. The tea she intended to drink was starting to get cold and she resumed the making process to keep her hands busy. She felt it must have been something unusual, even for Sherlock Holmes.

“Well... quickly, then”, she replied, half-consciously cleaning up the kitchen counter.

But he remained silent for another couple of seconds. She started losing her patience.

“Sherlock!”, she rushed him. “What is it? What do you want?”

He finally spoke up.

“Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words.”

She thought that maybe this time it wouldn’t be that bad of a game. Maybe he just wanted to solve a funny puzzle and needed to hear it from someone else’s lips?

“What words?”, she asked with a little of a smile on her face.

“ _I love you._ ”

The bad mood, which was almost gone, got back immediately. So, after all, it was his another mockery. Another way to make her feel stupid and small in the face of the great, brilliant Sherlock Holmes. Her body started trembling a bit and she lost interest in the conversation right away. She took back the phone from her ear and look at the screen, her finger ready to tap the red icon.

“Leave me alone.”

“No, Molly, please, no, don’t hang up! Do not hang up!”

It was the first time Molly heard Sherlock in such desperate tone. What was it all about? No, never mind that. She stopped caring about his reason for this call. She didn’t want to talk to him. Not like that. Not about that. She was fed up with his ignorance of her presence and feelings. Mocking her was where she drew the line.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?”

“Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me.” He made a short stop. “Molly, this is for a case.” His voice was raised and sounded falsely. “It’s... it’s a sort of experiment.”

Ah, yes. Of course. All the people in the world were “an experiment” for Sherlock. And to think that she was the first one to discover the human in him... She was so _stupid_. So _blind_.

But even then, even when she felt so betrayed, it didn’t change anything.

“I’m not an experiment... Sherlock”, she replied, her voice lowered and eyes got glossy.

“No, I know you’re not an experiment, you’re my friend. We’re friends”, his response was a little bit more silent and softer again. It was the first time he openly admitted that. _But nothing beyond that_. “But... please. Just say those words for me.”

“Please, don’t do this”, she whispered.

Why would he do that? He’d changed a bit lately. Molly sensed a touch of John Watson in this metamorphosis of his, so... why would he do that? Did he not consult this with John? Did doctor Watson approved this? How could he do this to her, knowing all he knew?

“Just.. just... don’t do it.”

Couldn’t he choose someone else? Many people, especially his dedicated fans, could say those words sincerely, if that’s what it all was about. Why did he choose her? Molly had many thoughts flooding her head with conflicting opinions but she mostly felt betrayed by Sherlock. More than ever.

“It’s very important. I can’t say why... but I promise you it is.”

_T_ _he person he thought didn’t matter at all to me, was the one person who mattered the most._

“I can’t, I can’t say that. I can’t say that... to you.”

Her heart started pumping blood a lot faster and heavier than before. She didn’t understand the sick position she was in, she didn’t understand Sherlock’s agenda and didn’t want to have this conversation at all. Yet, she didn’t hang up like he asked. She knew that humiliation was waiting for her. She initiated it with her last sentence.

“Of course you can, why can’t you?”

She almost felt his nervous smile on the other side of the call.

“You know why”. Her voice hardened with anger.

Why was he playing stupid now? After all those years of living in the need of being the smartest person in the room, he suddenly claims he doesn’t know? He didn’t notice? _Bullshit. _  
__

“No, I don’t know why”, he replied in a desperate, almost mad tone.

She took a short breath and rubbed her nose, getting more and more anxious.

“Of course you know”, she said with a bitter smile.

Because... how could he not? It was kind of obvious he figured it out a long time ago, during a Christmas drinks with the rest of his friends. He spotted his own present in her bag and started angrily deducing that she was going to meet a “serious boyfriend” that night. And the surprise on his face when he read the tag... Not many people could surprise Sherlock, yet she managed to do this a couple of times. But that Christmas she paid for this astonishment with her own embarrassment. He said sorry, which was unusual for him, but... he must have deduced that back then. And see it in every move she made when he was around.

He was silent for a couple of seconds.

“Please, just say it.”

It seemed so easy when he talked about it, but her body was rejecting those words. She couldn’t. The words were stuck in her throat.

“I can’t. Not to you.” She started losing her voice.

“Why?”

What was with him and all those weird questions? Was he testing her patience or nerves? What was it all about?

“Because... because it’s true”. Her voice started breaking. She realised the last word was inaudible. “Because it’s true, Sherlock! It’s... always been... true...”

Tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t control her voice or breathing. The moment she waited for so many years came unexpectedly and in such horrible way. With Sherlock treating her disrespectfully, like an evidence on a crime scene, _like a rat during a vivisection_. Experimenting on her heart like a cold surgeon.

There was a dead silence for a couple of seconds on the other side of the call.

When he spoke, his voice was very low and surprisingly warm.

“If it’s true, just say it anyway.”

She laughed shortly, with a bitter face. She sighed, letting a bit of her anxiety go.

“You bastard.”

So _he did know_. He knew and he thought that this was going to be so easy? If it were, she would have told him a long time ago. Didn’t it occur to him that there must be a reason why it’s so difficult for people to tell someone they love them? No, of course not. Why would it? It’s Sherlock, after all. Emotional context and romantic entanglement are for losers. Losers like her, who would take a bullet for him. Like her who helped him take down the most dangerous criminal there has ever been on the London streets, his archenemy. Who, silently, was always there. Who gave up her bedroom so he could have his space.

“Say it anyway”, he insisted, his voice cold and unpleasant.

It was her turn. Her turn to play a game. To let him taste his own medicine. And... _to hear it_. At least once.

“You say it”, she demanded with confidence. “Go on. You say it first.”

“What?” He was clearly confused and nervous.

Apparently, he wasn’t that good in games if he wasn’t the game host. In logic games he might have been the best man of Earth, but if there were emotions included... he was lost. Helpless.

“Say it”, she repeated in a cold voice, the same one he used on her couple of seconds ago. “ _Say it like you mean it._ ”

For about fifteen seconds he didn’t say a single word. Molly pulled her phone closer to her ear, placed her second hand on the one holding the telephone and closed her eyes with a pain wrinkling her face. She didn’t want to miss a single sound if he was about to speak again.

“I...”, he started hesitatingly. “I love you.”

She felt the pain flooding her chest. It sounded so insincere. She kept imagining that this was real. She was picturing herself in a nice place with him, both of them smiling, his eyes filled with affection. She wanted so badly for those words to be real.

But she couldn’t make a sound.

And then, unexpectedly, he spoke again. Softly, silently.

“ _I love you._ ”

The pain couldn’t let go of her. She was rubbing her hand and pressing the phone against her face, trying to imagine the texture of the skin on his palms, the softness of his arms, the warmth of his body. His voice was still ringing in her head, not giving her any sort of relief.

“Molly?”

She took the phone from her ear and brought it closer to her lips. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel her entire body pulsing with it.

“Molly, please!” He sounded very desperate.

Back to the reality. Sherlock was still waiting for her response. She was rubbing her lower lip with her finger, gaining the courage. Now or never, Molly Hooper. Eventually, she took a deep breath.

“I love you.”

All she heard was a sound of a relief sigh. After that, he just unceremoniously hung up.


	2. The Lonely Nightstand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has 10 pages. Kill me later, ok, I'm busy now. I think it looks better, but I think a lot of things and most of them are wrong.

She had sat on the floor, her back leaned against the kitchen counter. The sky had turned dark some time ago, but she barely noticed that. She had been sitting there since he’d hung up. He hadn’t called back. The cold tea she tried to make for herself still stood on the counter. She lost interest in drinking or eating.

 _She really had done it_. Molly Hooper, after nearly five years of restraining herself from saying anything personal to Sherlock Holmes, finally had confessed her love for him. It wasn’t romantic at all. Not that she would ever really expect from Sherlock to be even slightly affectionate in any way, but she knew he was capable of feelings. He certainly loved John and Mrs Hudson, he also considered inspector Lestrade a friend. And that woman with a bashed up face... could have he been involved in an affair? Molly felt a sudden wave of jealousy.

She was just a pathologist. Her mind, however close to his, wasn’t brilliant at all. She wasn’t a real beauty. She didn’t like playing mind games. She wasn’t a challenge for him. And that’s what he had been constantly looking for: a rush of adrenaline, a complicated puzzle to solve. She was an open book. There was no mystery to discover, no secret thoughts to decode. He had proved it during that call. _If it’s true, just say it anyway_. Maybe, if she had hope... but she had known very well that the feeling wasn’t mutual. She was just a useful friend, or even less.

Her heart was pumping the pain through her veins. With every beat, she felt weaker and more tired, more incapable of pulling herself back together. Her eyes were red and swollen, her make-up runny. She hadn’t made a move in a couple of hours. Two, three maybe? She couldn’t tell.

She managed to stand up around midnight to take a shower and bury her sadness under the bed sheets. Hot water helped her wash off what was left of the make-up, and relax tensed muscles, but his voice was still flooding her head. All the good things, which had happened between the two of them. The surprise on his face when she said: _I don’t count_. And: _Are you wearing a lipstick? You weren’t wearing a lipstick before_. Was it one of his manipulations? But he didn’t have to ask her to do anything for him. So maybe he was genuinely intrigued by all those changes he pointed out?

 _No, manipulative, that’s what he is_.

She got out of the shower and, wearing a pyjama consisting of funny T-shirt, old shorts and winter socks, she went to bed.

* * *

“DOCTOR HOOPER, PLEASE, OPEN UP!”

A heavy knocking on her front door woke Molly up immediately. She had slept not more than three hours and felt even more tired than she had been before. She got out of bed fully awaken, with her heart pounding fast again. She put on a dressing gown and went to her front door.

“DOCTOR HOOPER, OPEN UP!”

“I’m coming!”

Once she opened the lock, a group of men in dark uniforms stormed into her house, pushing her on their way inside. Mycroft Holmes was the only one that still stood at her doorstep.

“Hello, doctor Hooper, I’m very sorry for the intrusion”, he said in a fully calm voice. She couldn’t utter a single word out of her throat. “We need to search down your flat. Security purposes and so on.”

“ _Security_... what? Mr Holmes, what’s going on?”

She automatically thought about the call. Had she landed Sherlock in some trouble? Maybe he had called her because he knew he was about to die? _No, not possible_. Besides, why would he call her to make her say “I love you”? If he had any sort of feelings for her... Maybe it was a code she was supposed to understand?

“May I come in?”

Molly, still in shock, stepped aside wordlessly to make a room for Mycroft, who walked in. She led him to the kitchen, which had been already taken by Holmes’s minions. They had been going through her kitchen cupboards and all the personal belongings in every room.

“Sherlock, doctor Watson and I were convinced by, uh... a _certain person_ , that your life was in danger. We were told your house was rigged to explode, which turned out to be untrue. We need to make sure nonetheless. There are cameras installed here as well”, Mycroft said without a single sign of anxiety.

Molly felt a cold shiver going swiftly through her body. Someone had entered her house when she wasn’t here. Probably when she was at work. Someone had been probably following her for some time. Being friends with Sherlock had its price.

“He was sure he was saving your life”, older Holmes resumed, forcing Molly to get back to the reality. “I’m sorry... if it was _unpleasant_ to you.”

Mycroft... looking uncomfortable. With a compassion on his face. Rather rare view. Could he... witness their conversation? That thought seemed a lot worse for her than the picture of an intruder in her house.

So this is what it was. He said it _almost sincerely_ because he was trying to save her life. It didn’t make her feel any better. Of course, she was grateful, no matter if the danger was real or not, but it only confirmed what she had already known: Sherlock Holmes was a decent man.

 _It would be a lot easier if I simply accepted his friendship. Again_.

But it got her thinking: didn’t Sherlock deduce that this was just a clever ruse? He could spot a lie from afar and now someone convinced him she was in danger? It didn’t sound like Sherlock at all.

“You said I have cameras here?”, she asked in a weak voice.

“I reckon my brother will be a better person to explain the details to you,” Holmes replied.

One of the men stood on a chair and removed a camera from the corner of her kitchen ceiling. Her eyes widened. Mycroft wasn’t joking (not that he had any sense of humour). But how long had she been observed? What... had they seen? And more importantly, _who_ had seen it?

“That person you mentioned...”, Molly began, catching Mycroft’s attention. Face of Jim Moriarty flashed in her head. “Who is he? Or... she?”

Holmes cleared his throat.

“Our sister, Eurus.”

 _Sister?_ , Molly thought. Sherlock had never mentioned anyone else from his family, apart from his brother. How had they managed to hide her existence from...

A different thought popped up into her head. Sherlock was there, wherever _there_ was, trying to save her life, when she decided that it’s the time she would play a game with him. Although she couldn’t have known that, she felt guilty. That one time she tried to show a character, be tough, and it was immediately punished.

Molly swallowed.

“Nothing to worry about, doctor Hooper”, Mycroft said insightfully just like his brother. “We understand.”

Molly, however, didn’t feel cheered up by this at all. Her assumptions turned out to be true: _they all_ witnessed her embarrassing confession. On one hand, she had been getting more and more curious about the circumstances that had led them to think she was going to die, on the other - she had also felt she had been slowly shutting down. She had begun to block her feelings, unable to talk about them, even to herself. She had been rejecting every thought that tried to bring out the emotions from that call. And it had only been a couple of hours since they hung up. Since _he had_ hung up.

“I found two more in the bedroom and the bathroom, sir”, one of the agents said, showing the devices to Mycroft.

“Pack it. We need to take that as well and go through all the evidence.”

Molly looked around nervously.

“How long is it going to take?”

“Not long, I suppose.” The smile on Mycroft’s face was scary for her.

As the team was done with the kitchen, Molly leaned on the counter, covering her face with her hand. Tiredness came back and she felt sleepy again. This entire situation was crazy, not to say ridiculous. She should have gotten used to it by now. Sherlock’s life was all about chasing criminals and solving puzzles. He was married to his job. It didn’t matter if he had really begun to accept the _emotional context_ in his life. Well, mattered to John, Mrs Hudson and inspector Lestrade because Holmes had learned to respect them and care about them, but a relationship? She knew John had tried to persuade him numerous times, but even if he would go with it, she wouldn’t be the one he would turn to.

 _He must have been with women before_ , she thought the day the two Holmes brothers entered her morgue to indentify that bashed up victim. He was devilishly clever and handsome. _Romantic entanglement_ he might reject, but a sexual tension? There is nothing emotional about that. Sex can be a physical act. Nothing but pure, hedonistic joy. On the other hand, however, she had heard John mentioning something about a nickname _Virgin_? Well... she wouldn’t mind that.

Molly raised her head and noticed the cup of cold tea left on the counter. She threw out the lemon, poured out the tea to the sink and washed up the cup. She wondered for a minute if she should make another, but then again, she wanted to finally fall asleep like a person who hadn’t been invigilated for...

“How long have the cameras been here?”, she asked, seeing that Mycroft stood close to the kitchen again.

“We haven’t established the time yet”, he replied.

He glanced at his watch.

“It looks like we’re done here. Thank you for your kind cooperation and... sorry for... well, everything.”

Mycroft waited for his agents to take out all the found cameras and left, closing the door behind him.

Cameras. Sister. Eurus. Sherlock trying to save her life... but with “I love you”? John and Mycroft as witnesses of her confession. Her game.

Too much to think about. Molly chose to forget about it all in a sleep.

* * *

It had taken a week for Molly to understand that Sherlock wasn’t going to explain the situation as Mycroft stated. She couldn’t tell whether it was his fright or ignorance but she had given up her hopes pretty quickly. She had almost forgot about getting an apology for making her say what she said. She had known who she had loved and therefore accepted the order of things.

She hadn’t been in contact with anyone of them. She had been seeing mostly Lestrade, who kept coming to the morgue from time to time, but they didn’t talk much. He had probably been informed about the entire situation with _Eurus Holmes_. Molly had been under the impression that the inspector looked for something on her face - a sign of her current mood, maybe? He hadn’t, however, asked her about anything personal. There was a possibility that he didn’t know about the explosives, not to mention _the call_.

Molly was convinced their acquaintance was over. She felt bad, because it also meant not seeing Rosie anymore. She liked her very much and treated her role of Godmother seriously. She hoped that she would be called for help from time to time, at least to see that the little one is okay. But then, unexpectedly, the door to her lab opened really wide three weeks after the conversation.

Molly looked up with safety glasses on her nose. Her heartbeat jumped. She froze with a pipette in her hand.

“Hello, Molly”, John said with a smile.

“Hello.” She tried to return it, but the shock was difficult to overcome.

She glared at Sherlock, in his usual coat, with a scarf, acting the old way. He barely noticed her.

“Hello, Molly Hooper”, he muttered.

She didn’t reply; instead she got back to work. Unfortunately, she found it difficult to concentrate. She couldn’t even pour a drop of a liquid on a Petri glass.

“Good to see you”, John said.

Molly looked up and this time, the smile was sincere.

“Good to see you, too. How are... things going?”

“Not bad, actually-“

“John, as I remember correctly, we didn’t come here to have a small talk, but to work. Is my memory failing me or are we really wasting our time?”

 _Arrogant as usual. So, no progress_ , Molly thought, trying to pretend she didn’t hear Sherlock’s unpleasant reply.

“Molly, we need to check a few things for our new case. Would you mind?”

She looked him in the eye and shook her head. All words seemed stupid right now. Besides, she no longer knew how to act around him. He could soldier on, because - and that she was sure of - no matter how big of a change he went through, it was still Sherlock. The disrespect and arrogance had been parts of who he was. Even though she had known that very well, it didn’t force her to give up on him. She had had a long time to think their relationship through and had found a couple of arguments, which could make her change her mind nonetheless. She had also decided that it would be the best time for her to start over again.

She had known it would take time and she had chosen to accept what was coming. Forcing to forget would have the contrary effect. But she had made the decision to begin to slowly let it go. She was sure a part of her would always have a sentiment for him. That her heart would always start beating faster whenever he would enter the room. However, she had acknowledged the fact that he would never be open for a relationship. Not with her, not with anyone. And she wouldn’t like to waste her life to wait for a chance that might not be worth it.

John tried to keep the conversation going and Molly was grateful for it. Not that she felt uncomfortable working in silence, but it was a way of showing that he cares. It went without saying.

“It’s my break time, so I’m going down for lunch”, Molly said, taking off her safety glasses and then the gloves. “Do you need a hand with something before I go?”

John opened his mouth in response, but Holmes cut in.

“Molly, we’ve been in this lab before,” Sherlock replied without taking his eyes off the microscope, “besides, I’m a chemistry graduate and John’s a doctor. What makes you think your help would be necessary?”

 _A simple “no” would be alright_.

“Well... okay then”, she responded. “See you later... or... never mind.”

She exited the lab, trying to wipe off the last thirty minutes of their presence from her memory. Not only there had been not progress in their relationship, but he had made a regress in his social development. She felt hurt a bit, but after all, it wasn’t entirely new for her. She chose to ignore it.

Waiting for the elevator, Molly realised she forgot her phone. Thinking about coming back to the lab right now made her stomach heavier, but she gulped and turned back. She was just about to push the door open but the conversation from the inside prevented that.

“...and I think you’re crazy.” That was John’s voice. “Whatever are your feelings about this, she deserves some sort of explanation, doesn’t she? Or does being Sherlock make a good excuse for not getting things straight with a woman in love with him?”

There it was, the final proof that they all had witnessed their conversation. Or at least Sherlock had told them.

Molly heard the heartbeat in her ears again. Sherlock remained silent.

“Oh, that’s right, ignore me. In fact, ignore everyone who cares about you and means something for you. That’s the fastest way to lose your friends. Oh, this and being obnoxious in order to hide your feelings.”

“I am perfectly sure everything will get back to normal without my interference”, Sherlock eventually replied in a oddly calm tone.

“Yeah, it’s a possibility. There’s also a possibility that you will try to fix things up and it’ll turn out to be too late. And there will be no more Mollys to save you from falling from a roof.”

That was the moment she decided to get in.

“Sorry, it’s just... my phone.”

They both looked at her in an utter surprise. She was smiling nervously but she didn’t make any longer eye contact and left even faster than she entered.

* * *

After that incident, Sherlock would come to the lab or the morgue rather often, the way he used to do it. He still hadn’t talked talk much to Molly, but luckily, he had never been alone. They would exchange a couple of information, mainly about the victims or the material they tested. There was nothing more and Molly had never overheard John and Sherlock talking about her ever again.

She had managed to get some things done, however. She had called her sister and everything looked ready. She had also signed the papers. There had been three weeks left until the end of the month.

December that year had come with a lot of snow; streets had been white since its first day. Molly had thought about the Christmas spirit she had been missing for the most part of her life. She had hoped for getting a chance to feel it again. All those lights and decorations had kept her in a good mood whenever she had felt down. Shorter days had come with winter as well and it wasn’t that comforting, especially when she had to get up at some ungodly hour, with complete darkness outside the window. But she had liked the long evenings, which gave her the opportunity to wrap herself up in a warm, fuzzy blanket, with a hot tea and a good book.

That evening Molly took her still steaming cup of tea and placed it on her nightstand. She got into her bed and buried under a blanket. She wasn’t in a mood for reading, though, so she put her earphones in and set some relaxing music to get rid of the tension in her body.

Although her “I love you” had seemed embarrassing at the beginning, Molly had begun to find it helpful. She had noticed that - even without any clarifying conversation - she had felt lighter. It hadn’t happen instantly, but it had definitely given her a sort of peace of mind. She had said it, she was finally free from any secrets. She didn’t to worry about what was on his mind. She had known it wasn’t “like that” at all. Whatever reason he had, it was fine by her. Apparently, it had been a part of someone else’s plan, maybe a way to save her. She was thankful for that. After a really long struggle, she had chosen to accept his friendship and friendship only. The will to save her life was enough of a proof for his kindness. She didn’t want more; she wouldn’t mind it but she knew her chances.

The sound of the doorbell made her realise she uncontrollably fell asleep. Molly pulled the earphones out and jumped out of bed. It was pretty late already; she remembered the last unexpected late visit and hoped that it wouldn’t be about any cameras or explosives in her flat again. She ran to her front door, still wrapped up in a blanket, her hair messy and pillow wrinkles stamped on her cheek. She unlocked the door to see Sherlock Holmes at her doorstep.

“Good evening, Molly Hooper”, he said expressionlessly.

“Hello, Sherlock”, she uttered in shock.

“I believe we have to talk. May I come in?”, he asked, studying the inside of her house.

“That depends,” she replied. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Important matters”, Sherlock said, locking his eyes directly with hers, for the very first time in months. “Not any case-related. Well, kind of... but not any recent case, at least. So?”

Molly stepped back to make a room for Sherlock. When he passed her in the entrance, she noticed a lot of snowflakes in his dark hair. His famous coat was visibly wet from melted snow. He took it off along with his scarf.

“Would you like some tea?”, she asked, remembering that her cup of tea was still standing on her nightstand, probably icy cold.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Yes, please.”

He followed her to the kitchen, where she dropped the blanket on a chair, and sat down at the kitchen counter. He didn’t say a single word, studying the tea making process. She spoke first as she lost her only excuse to be silent when she turned on the kettle.

“So, Sherlock, what’s going on?”

She turned for a second to reach a cookie can on a top shelf, when she heard a very slow but definitely sincere reply:

“I am... sorry.”

She froze in a weird position with her hand up in the air and turned her head in his direction. Her eyes widened and she wasn’t sure if she could help it.

“For... what?”

She gave up on those cookies and came closer to the counter Sherlock was sitting at.

“For the... rather awful behaviour of mine in the last couple of weeks. Well, months, actually.” She could tell it was difficult for him but, as usual, he didn’t look away. His bright eyes were glaring directly at her, with the insightful glow. She knew he was scanning her every move. “I have been struggling with my, well, feelings.”

Her heart, beating faster from the moment she heard the doorbell, quickened.

“What... what feelings?”, she asked in a weak voice.

She pulled up a chair and sat down opposite to him.

“I think we both know an incident has happened some time ago, which involved certain confessions and we haven’t discussed this”, he spewed out quickly. “I have been struggling with many feelings I had since then and to that, as you’re surely aware, I am new.”

Molly ignored the flipping sound of the kettle and stared at Sherlock with her mouth slightly opened. After his words, there was an utter silence.

“I think the water’s ready”, he noticed.

She nodded and stood up to prepare his tea. She moved the cup towards him.

“Here you are.”

“Thank you.” He took out the teabag pretty quickly and stirred up the liquid. “As I was saying, I have been struggling lately and I think I owe you an explanation for that night I, well, my sister, actually, called from Sherrinford.”

“From what?” That name surely hadn’t been mentioned by Mycroft.

“A prison for highly intelligent and dangerous people”, he explained. “My sister’s one of them.”

Eurus Holmes, a criminal. _Highly intelligent_. Was Molly surprised that another Holmes’s child had turned out to be a genius? She had thought Sherlock had a top-shelf mind but it turned out that he was actually thought to be “the dumbest” sibling.

“Long story short”, he continued, “she killed my friend. It was revealed that we have never had a dog named Redbeard. I made that up after my friend, Victor, disappeared. She killed him out of jealousy. She also paired up with Jim Moriarty in order to show me that even though I deny it, there is an _emotional context_ in my life and it destroys me every time.”

Molly was staring at Sherlock, trying not to look stupid, but that was a lot of information to get in a couple of seconds. So Sherlock had a murderous sister. And she... planned to kill him? It didn’t make any sense, but he was very talkative and Molly was curious as to where it would lead them.

“John, Mycroft and I had to go through a... series of tests. It was... unpleasant and awful, I’m not going to explain that to you. Too many gore details. One of my tests was you.”

She took a long breath to keep herself calm.

“What... what kind of test was it?”

Sherlock wouldn’t look away.

“A difficult one, that’s for sure. Eurus had prepared a room with a coffin in it. The coffin was opened and I was to deduce its future owner. I started my deductions, but then Mycroft took the lid and showed it to me. It had a tablet with “I LOVE YOU” written on it. It was obvious that someone who loves me was in danger.”

Molly rolled down her eyes, suddenly interested in her nails. She had known that this was inevitable, but knowing about it and facing it were two different things. The fact that she had said it already didn’t make it easier.

“I came to the conclusion, that I would be forced to make you say it. Eurus gave me three minutes to convince you.”

Molly took a deep breath.

“Listen, I’m truly sorry for-“

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, how were you supposed to know? I couldn’t tell you. That was one of the conditions.”

An insufferable silence filled the house as Sherlock said the last word.

He was really convinced he was saving her life. It was obvious he wouldn’t want her dead, he wasn’t a monster, after all. And he also didn’t play a game. She hadn’t been an experiment for him. More for his sister. She felt guilty nonetheless, because it was her who had used Sherlock that time. The fact that he had done this numerous times to her before wasn’t consoling at all.

“Anyway... I came here to tell you that I am sincerely sorry for the way it all happened”, he resumed. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer like that. I would like you to know that I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re important to me.”

Sure, she had become important mainly because of Jim Moriarty. But she wasn’t ungrateful; she saw the pain on his face once she found the courage to look up at his face.

“We all fell a victim of my sister’s emotional vivisection. I can only hope you’re not mad at me.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, how were you supposed to know?” she replied with a smirk.

They looked at each other and chuckled. She was ready to ask him about his sister, but then he spoke:

“As to your little game...” He was glaring at her with a smirk again. “I think I’ve deserved it.”

“No”, she denied quickly. “No one deserves a revenge or... this kind of treatment.”

“Yet, I have played you a couple of times.”

“That’s OK. I hold no grudge against you.”

He fell silent, visibly beaming. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Molly felt that the anger had left her entirely. He really hadn’t been obnoxious for no reason. He had been struggling, trying to let his emotions speak. Preparing to go through this meeting as smooth as possible.

“Not everything was pretended, though,” he resumed. Her heart sped up again. She noticed her breathing going irregular. “I really...” For the first time during this conversation Sherlock looked down at his hands. It took him several seconds to pull himself together. “I do love you, Molly Hooper. You’re like family to me.”

The moment had come. Molly was convinced she detected a form of uncertainty on his face, but shook it off once she saw his usual look. She formed her lips to smile, but her eyes must have betrayed her. Before she could say anything, Sherlock interjected:

“ _I_ _know what it means, looking sad when you think no one can see you_.”

Molly put a vague smile on her face nonetheless.

“Your memory palace is in place, I take it.”

Maybe there had been a small piece of hope in her heart all this time. It wouldn’t be so surprising and therefore Molly had accepted her feelings with no amazement. Being _tolerated_ by Sherlock was an accomplishment. But being _loved_ by him? A point to resume. No matter the type of love. Molly was grateful for taking her into account, treating her as family. She had known he respected people who contributed to his emotional development, who had been there for him for good and for bad. And he definitely had a lot of respect for a girl who had made taking Moriarty off the streets possible.

Molly noticed that Sherlock’s tea was untouched. There was no steam and she deduced the drink had been already cold for some time.

“Every memory palace needs to be huge and magnificent”, he replied with a smile in a corner of his lips. “But you, on the other hand, need to cheer up.”

“I will. For some time. I still need a bit more recovering.”

Molly felt a very subtle brush on her finger. She looked down immediately, pretending to cough, but she was sure she was touched by Sherlock. She could swear she saw his index finger reaching the back of her hand. She persuaded herself, that it was accidental.

“Thank you”, she said, gazing at him, “for trying to save my life. Even if it was just a ruse.”

“No, thank _you_ ”, he replied, beaming. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

They sat in quiet for a while.

“So... you have a sister,” she resumed after the short pause filled with awkward glaring at each other.

“Indeed.”

“What happened to her after... your visit?”

“She had to stay in Sherrinford. She hasn’t stopped being a potential hazard. The entire experiment was a way to catch my attention. It turned out she killed Victor out of jealousy. I had ignored her wish to join our play so she had killed _the obstacle_. And then, when he had disappeared... I had erased her of my memory.” He fell silent for a second or two, absorbed by his thoughts. “All she’s ever wanted was an affection. So now we meet every two weeks to play a violin.”

Molly raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

“You’re seeing your sister? On a regular basis?”

“Yes”, he replied. “Apparently, that’s the only way to keep her... _sane_.”

Molly frowned.

“So, the emotional context-”

“Yes. Helped me win. Sort of,” he said, his eyes looking in a different direction. “But it also caused far more damage.”

Molly took a deep breath in order to ask a question, but Sherlock cut in.

“Trust me, Molly, you don’t want to know the details.”

She exhaled slowly and obediently followed Sherlock’s advice.

“I’m not proud of myself.”

She glanced at him with curiosity but restrained herself from questioning more.

They talked for another twenty minutes when Molly started yawning intensively. She checked her phone to shockingly find out that it was well past midnight. She was sure she had had a lot less of sleep before Holmes came. The visit made her happy, though. Her dreams might have been crushed, but his presence lightened up her mood nonetheless. As always.

Sherlock made a remark that it was, indeed, very late.

“I better let you get back to your comfortable bed,” he said, smiling at her meaningfully.

For some unknown reason, she blushed.

When she was standing at her window, watching Sherlock Holmes dash in the snow through her driveway, Molly knew two things for sure. One - there was no universe or string of reality she could forget him in. He was too much of a weird genius to be simply forgotten by anyone. And she had loved his almost-sociopathic and complicated nature way too much to simply let it go. And two - the decision to leave was definitely a good one.


	3. The Warmed Hands

“Yes, Lils. I’ll be all right,” she said, rolling her eyes. Good thing it wasn’t a video call. “And yes, I am sure. No, your boyfriend won’t be a problem.”

Molly began to suspect her sister was far more worried about her arrival than Molly herself. The moment she had left the interview, she knew she was ready and there was nothing to hold her back. She made a promise, though, to visit her friends in London as often as possible. They had become her family, too. It wouldn’t be easy with so many new responsibilities and over three-hour drive. The project required working five or even seven days a week, if the research would need a series of test done as a matter of urgency.

She was going to give Lily another reassurance of her wellbeing and readiness, when the lab doors pushed open and a tall figure with dark, curly hair appeared, followed by a shorter one, both of them preoccupied with a very expressive conversation.

“Have to go. Bye!” Molly whispered and hung up.

“...and since when have you become an expert in this matter?”, Sherlock asked, taking his coat off to hang it on a rack.

“Oh, I swear to God, sometimes I think you live only to push my buttons,” John replied angrily, taking off his jacket as well.

“Dear John, I think we both know, that God doesn’t exist,” Holmes muttered, already busy with texting.

“I agree, because if he did, he wouldn’t have let me live with you.”

“Hello. Am I interrupting?”

This caught their attention because both Sherlock and John looked at her right away. Both of them also seemed a bit surprised to see her there.

“M-Molly! Hi!” John uttered finally.

“What are you looking here for?”, she asked, getting back to her work.

“We just have a few samples we need to check,” Sherlock replied.

He didn’t look at her. Molly suspected it might be the result of their last conversation. She decided to keep on acting naturally to prevent any awkwardness. She sat back at the microscope she had been using before Lily called and continued her work, no longer paying any attention to the guests.

“May I?”

Molly rolled up her eyes to see Sherlock standing right next to her. He was so close she felt his breath on her left cheek. His face remained enigmatic.

“I’m using it. Take the other one.” She pointed her finger at the microscope on a different table.

“I prefer this one.”

Molly sighed, trying to hide her increasing irritation.

“Give me five more minutes, then.”

She suddenly found herself trying to relax. She didn’t feel exceptionally good that day, so it wasn’t a spectacular descent, but the annoyance began to take over. She checked if this could be a subconscious anger based on her disappointed hopes but she couldn’t find such feelings. Maybe the love hormones had run out a bit and she had began to see Sherlock’s flaws in a different light. He got back to obsessive texting, but she noticed that the notification sound got on her nerves as well. She decided to ignore it until a usual _ding_ turned into a woman’s moan.

It caught John’s attention as well, as he raised his head up from his own phone.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said.

Molly remembered very well whose text it indicated. She flashed him an irritated look and stepped back from the microscope.

“I’m done,” she muttered.

“Thank you, Molly,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the screen of his phone. His thumbs were sliding over it as in madness.

 _I don’t have any disappointed hopes_ , she reassured herself, preparing to check a few samples on her own. _It’s just him that is disappointing_. She knew, however, that it wasn’t him she was annoyed by. After all, the anger was only a disguise for sadness as a result of the rather radical changes she had been going through. She didn’t really want to leave London because London was the only thing that kept her in touch with Sherlock. But she had begun to find it lonely - chasing a man who wasn’t even slightly interested. Lily admired her courage to love so unconditionally without getting anything in return, but it was living a lie. It was tearing her apart, but she knew she had to do it. For her own sanity. She was at peace with loneliness, so she directed her energy into scientific career, to make a use from her knowledge and maybe save a life.

 _Just like Sherlock_.

Molly glanced at the watch on her wrist. She wanted to stay longer, but at the same time she was happy to leave.

“Molly,” she heard and raised her head up, “could you please wait here today for the results and send them to me for a week?”

“A week?”, Molly raised her brows. “Why not now?”

“It’s important. Lestrade cannot see this earlier.”

“Why?” John interjected.

“Because otherwise he’ll mess it up with his so called ‘police work’ and then the murderer will get scared and rabbit at the light speed.” Sherlock spoke so quickly Molly barely understood. “You know, hunted animal etcetera. So please, just do your best to stall the process.”

Molly took another deep breath and exhaled. John hid his face behind his hand.

“I would love to, Sherlock, but as it happens, I’m leaving,” she said, starting to take off her glasses and gloves.

That made Sherlock raise his head up. Their eyes locked.

“You’re off home already? I thought you had at least fifteen minutes left until the end of your shift.” Holmes frowned.

Molly resumed her activity and cleared her throat.

“That, too. I’m leaving London,” she responded, packing her things.

She caught a surprise look on John’s face out of the corner of her eye. Sherlock seemed speechless.

“Where-where are you going, then? And for how long?” John asked.

“Well, the project doesn’t have a deadline...”, she responded in a calmer voice, “so it’s safe to assume for good.”

An utter silence filled the lab. Molly was aware of the bomb she had just dropped and she instantly regretted her decision. Neither John, nor Sherlock moved. When she was done cleaning, she said:

“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to come out like this... I was planning to tell you in a better circumstances.”

“What is the project about?” John asked.

“We will be doing some medical researches and trying a new approach to the autopsy. It’s for science.” Molly smiled nervously.

“Well... it’s a noble reason, then,” Sherlock muttered with signs of confusion visible on his face.

Molly washed her hands in the sink and despite not being able to see her guests, she was sure they were wordlessly gesturing at each other.

“Where are you leaving, Molly?”

She turned to John, who asked the question, as she was drying her hands into a paper towel.

“Blackpool.”

“Blackpool?!”, John yelled uncontrollably. “Holy mother... Molly, it’s almost the other end of the country!”

Molly smiled shyly, shoving her hands into her lab coat pockets.

“A three-hour drive. I’ve checked already,” she replied. “I promise to visit you very often. Especially on your birthdays. Oh, and Rosie’s, of course.”

“Of course,” John echoed, beaming.

The three of them fell silent again. Sherlock got back slowly to his tests, hiding his eyes behind the microscope lens. Molly glanced at him with sorrow. The rest of the smile on her face faded.

“I have to go. Please, don’t set the lab on fire,” she chuckled.

The last thing she saw was a glossy reflection of a lab lamp in Sherlock’s blue eye.

* * *

Molly walked down the snowy London alleys to get to the Baker Street. She passed by loads of shops with varieties of colourful lights, making her feel _Christmassy_ for a moment. She even got a little bit hungry at the smell of gingerbread biscuits from one of the bakeries on the way. She thought about a big Christmas tree she and Lily used to decorate every year. Their father used to lift one of them (usually Molly) on his shoulders so they could set a star at the top. They loved all the preparations, including baking all the sweets. After their father had died, the magic was gone; Molly had the suspicion, that it also had something to do with them getting older. The joy was gone, along with a real tree (which was replaced with a plastic one), as well as their mom, who had died a couple of years after their father.

Molly and Lily’s ways had parted, when Molly chose to study medicine and Lily found a job right after high school. She had already been engaged with her boyfriend at that time, and wanted to marry him regardless of anything. Molly started an argument about her sister’s lack of responsibility and it ended with the future pathologist moving out their aunt’s house to London and Lily breaking up the engagement. It had taken them over fifteen years to talk to each other again. And now, they had decided to reunite the only two members of their family by living under the same roof.

The black door with number _221B_ appeared and Molly stopped. She stood in front of it for a while, watching her breath turning into half-translucent cloud and then vanishing in the cold December air. A twinge of sorrow made her heart clench. She was weighed down by the heaviness of leaving so many years of talking and laughing together, not to mention... planning a fake suicide.

She smiled wholeheartedly for a brief moment.

Molly knocked on the door and a moment later Mrs Hudson’s beaming face lighten her up.

“Oh, Molly, my dear! You’re here already! Come in, come in!”

Mrs Hudson stepped aside to make room for Molly, who climbed up the stairs to the first floor. She pushed the half-open door and the warmth of the fireplace wrapped softly around her face. The flat was decorated with lights and garlands, but the centrepiece of the room was the Christmas tree. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, while John and Lestrade stood up to greet Molly. Holmes muttered a short “Hello, Molly” and took a sip of his drink.

“Sorry, we promised you a farewell party, but it turned out to be the four of us and you,” said John after giving her a heart-warming embrace.

“That’s alright, I’m happy you all came,” she replied, beaming. “And thank you, of course.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Mrs Hudson asked, striding into the kitchen.

“Yes, wine, please.”

Greg got Molly, the landlady and doctor Watson involved in a cheerful conversation. Sherlock was very quiet at the beginning, slowly sipping his whisky, but he joined after a while. The conversation turned to bringing back some old memories from all of the years of their friendship. All of the late evenings spent in the lab and unexpected visits in the morgue flooded Molly’s head and she couldn’t resist a little smile. Maybe it was the influence of the wine combined with heat of the fire, but she felt truly happy and warm from the inside. Loved and cared for.

It was natural that someone eventually mentioned _the fall_.

“Okay, but you have to tell us: how did he do it?”, Lestrade asked, laughing.

Molly took a sip of her wine, smiling.

“Did _what_?”

“How did he ask you to fake his death? Did he just casually come up and said: _Hey, find a corpse looking like me_?”

_What do you need?_

_You._

Mrs Hudson and John chuckled, but Molly’s smile faded. She tried to stay in the mood, but the feelings associated with this memory were stronger. She flashed Sherlock a sneaky glare and surprisingly, he looked directly at her. She looked away and cleared her throat.

“He just said he needed me.”

Everybody fell silent. Radio was playing a cheerful Christmas song and the fire was cracking, and these were the only sounds in the room. Molly felt tension in every muscle of her body.

“It wasn’t that difficult to do, though,” she giggled nervously again. “Besides, I just provided the body. Mycroft organised all the rest.”

“But the body was crucial,” Sherlock said, catching everyone’s attention. “And the papers, of course, which you provided as well.”

Molly shrugged with a shy smile and took another sip of the wine.

“You’re welcome.”

Greg, Mrs Hudson and John found a new topic, however, Molly dared to look Sherlock directly in the eye and he didn’t look away. In fact, she observed as one corner of his lips lifted in something close to a smirk before he sipped his whisky again. It made her beam, but she lowered her eyes, feeling a heat wave flooding her cheeks. She felt grateful for the fact that the rest of the party was busy.

John cleared his throat and stood up.

“More alcohol?”

“Oh, yes”, Lestrade replied.

Molly looked away, following falling snowflakes out of the window with her eyes. A certain memory came to her unexpectedly.

It had happened a couple of days before Christmas. The streets were covered in a thin layer of snow and it was already dark. Molly, waiting for the gingerbread biscuits to be ready, was reading a book at her kitchen counter. A steaming cup of tea was her only companion. At least until a knocking on her door forced her to get up and she was standing face to face with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes with a scratched face, wet hair, dirty coat and a small bag in his hand. He leaned on the door frame, breathing heavily.

“Sherlock!”

“Hello, Molly,” he greeted her and then swallowed. “Is there any chance you have a spare room?”

She invited him inside and helped him take off his coat and scarf. He looked very miserable. She hadn’t seen him since his famous fall. She let him take his breath and led him to her couch so he could sit down.

“What’s happened?” she asked, squatting in front of him.

“Mycroft,” he replied crisply.

“You... fought with Mycroft?” Despite knowing there was not much of love between the two Holmes brother, she couldn’t imagine them in a physical fight. They were way too intelligent to snap like this.

“No, he sent me on some... ridiculous mission.” Sherlock rubbed his eyes.

Molly kept looking at him, trying to overcome the astonishment, which flooded her body. She couldn’t move.

“Would you mind if I stayed here for a couple of days?” he asked, locking his eyes with hers. “I need... a space.”

Something in her chest jumped and she forced herself to keep a straight face.

“Not at all.” She beamed, when the smell of the baking goodies hit her nose again. “In fact, I think you’re lucky. My gingerbread biscuits are almost ready.” She stood up and dashed to the kitchen.

“That’s a tempting vision, but before that, I need to take a shower.”

Thirty minutes later both Molly and Sherlock sat on the couch, eating sweets and drinking hot tea. Sherlock was finally clean, but his dark curls were still wet - this time without any dirt in it. He was wearing one of his fancy pyjamas and a dressing gown. They didn’t feel the need to talk, though. Molly was happy to know he’s safe and sound, and the fact he decided her flat would be the best safe space made her feel distinguished.

“I know I mentioned a spare room, but...”, Sherlock said hesitantly, “I would prefer...”

“Yes, you can have my bedroom, Sherlock”, Molly interjected, visibly satisfied, especially after she noticed a genuine surprise on his face. “You’re not the only one who gets to guess right sometimes.” She sipped her tea, resisting that smile, which was trying to take over her entire face.

“Thank you,” he replied, looking away, and sipped his tea as well.

“We all need a space sometimes.”

“Yes, especially, when we also try to avoid a fake girlfriend.”

Her eyes widened. Sherlock noticed it right away.

“Oh, it’s a long story. But I can assure you, there’s no... romance there.”

“Sherlock, you don’t have explain yourself to me.”

“I just thought you should know. So there is no confusion.”

She flashed him a big smile.

That night she slept in her spare bedroom. She missed her bed, but the thought of having the scent of Sherlock on her pillows after his stay made up for every inconvenience on the way.

The farewell evening was absolutely heart-warming. Nobody got really drunk and seeing her friends laughing and enjoying the moment made her heart clench. She knew she would miss it all. She glanced at the watch a couple of times, but only to make sure she didn’t have to come back yet. Every hour got her closer to the end, which she tried to avoid. But she had to leave at some point. And that point was midnight.

She announced that she wanted to get back by foot and Mrs Hudson insisted she had to take a cab. Molly, however, felt the urge to cool off her face and everything inside her during a walk in a cold December air. She knew London could be dangerous at this hour, but she wouldn’t concede. In this case, Mrs Hudson insisted again, this time on a tea to go. Although getting even hotter wasn’t the point, Molly gave up and took a small thermos to put an end to the landlady’s concerns.

Almost everyone gave Molly a tight embrace. She held back the tears as Mrs Hudson told her about the cheesecake she would make for her next visit and laughed at Lestrade’s: _It will be difficult to keep the crazy one sane in the lab now_ muttered in her ear. Sherlock rolled his eyes and responded with: _I don’t remember having my ears cut off, Greg_.

“Don’t be a stranger,” said John, holding Molly close and rubbing her back.

“I won’t,” she promised.

Molly stepped back and looked at the only person left. Sherlock was standing next to his chair with hands placed behind his back. His face was expressionless, concentrated at best. Molly smiled nonetheless, but everyone felt the air in the room getting heavier. She noticed Mrs Hudson frowning at the scene, out of the corner of her eye.

“Goodbye, Sherlock,” Molly uttered eventually, chuckling nervously. “Call me when you feel like... falling off a roof again.”

Sherlock’s face flinched and he blinked, but didn’t manage to articulate any sort of response. Molly took a deep breath and look at each person in the room.

“Thank you. This was lovely, really. I’m going to miss you all very much.”

Mrs Hudson was very worried, when the rest was smiling cheerfully. Molly turned on her heel and walked out the flat on Baker Street.

The cold air lashed her face the moment she put her foot outside the building. She thanked herself for accepting Mrs Hudson’s advice. She meant to cool off, but definitely not freeze to death and that seemed extremely possible.

She took several steps, watching her shoes leaving funny traces in the snow with a teddy bear in the middle, when she heard:

“You can call me, too, you know.”

She turned around to see Sherlock standing four feet behind her. Suddenly, the cold was gone.

“Yes, but what could I need from you?”

Sherlock’s face unexpectedly froze, the way it used to whenever he came to an important realisation; the neurons in his brilliant mind lighted up and all the elements of a puzzle suddenly pieced together. Molly was confused because he didn’t say a word for at least a minute. His eyes held on to one point in the air and seemed like everything else disappeared. He finally looked down and saw her. Without unlocking their eyes even for a second, he crossed a bit of the distance between them.

“Nothing,” he replied, studying her face very thoroughly. “Absolutely nothing. But I’ll need you.”

Molly gulped heavily, feeling the heartbeat acceleration and stamping nervously.

“Well... I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you with the bod-“

“Not in the morgue.” Sherlock cut in. “Or the lab. I need someone, who can _see through my bullshit_.” Apparently, it brought out a memory, considering his tone and the smirk after.

Molly felt dizzy and she wasn’t sure it was the wine.

“You’ve got John,” she replied, trying not to get her hopes up.

They fell silent for a moment. The tea in the thermos was radiating heat and it was the thing that kept her in reality.

“I’m going to miss you.”

Once those words filled the air around them, they hit her almost physically. She felt weak in her knees and had to take a step back to make sure her muscles are in place. She blinked in incredulity and slightly opened her mouth.

“I’m telling you this,” he went on, “because my behaviour tonight might have not been obvious. I...” he suddenly stopped, looking for words. “I also wanted to reassure you, that, by saying this, I mean... you’re not indifferent to me. That... all of my friends are close to me. I hope you don’t have any doubts now.”

He was smiling again, the same way he did on their day of solving crimes together. Molly returned this gesture, feeling a wave of warmth beaming from her chest to every joint of her body. And it wasn’t the result of hot tea she was holding.

“I have- I have never doubted you have a heart, Sherlock,” she replied. “I’ve known this from the beginning.”

They fell silent again, unable to take their eyes off of each other. Molly watched the puffs of half-translucent breaths coming out of their mouth meeting and entangling in the air between them, and then vanishing completely. Her heart was pumping blood so loud she was sure that Sherlock’s sharp senses could catch it.

“I cannot stop you from leaving,” he whispered.

“A-are you... sure?”

She couldn’t believe she was ready to throw away all of her plans because of this strange moment they were sharing. _It can be another manipulation_ , she thought. Yet, she was ready to drop everything and stay.

“It’s you,” he replied. “I’m course I’m not sure.”

Molly frowned.

“What-- what do you mean?”

“Whenever I think I have you all figured out, you change the rules. You always come by surprise. You can’t be fooled by my arrogance. _You always win, Molly Hooper_.”

She was doing her best to restrain herself from touching his face. She noticed he was glancing at her lips and she could swear he leaned towards her a little. But it was Sherlock, of course she couldn’t be sure. She felt her breath getting shallow and irregular. She couldn’t catch any of the chaotic thoughts that were going through her head in that moment.

Molly was sure she was going to faint. Her body was shivering.

“Molly, please...” he whispered, locking his eyes with hers. “Don’t leave.”

A sudden and short memory came to her: the sound of a notification she heard in the lab. Not the regular one.

Oh, why was she so gullible?

Molly shut her eyes tightly and took a step back. She tried to even her breath out and it took her a while to look up at Sherlock again. A twinge of sorrow hurt her heart once she saw the pain in his eyes.

“I hope you’ll be very happy, Sherlock Holmes.”

She turned around on her heel and began to walk away as quickly as she could, trying to silence all the voices in her head and sooth the suffering taking over her body.

She had sworn to seal her heart for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the end... but I have another part ready. Would you like to read it? Let me know in the comments! But remember...
> 
> "There must be something comforting about the number three. People always give up after three."


	4. The Tea Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend reading this chapter, listening to "To Build A Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra. I linked it under the heart emoji.

[❤️](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUFJJNQGwhk)

The colourful lights of the small Christmas tree standing on a spare nightstand next to the couch reflected in Molly’s eyes. She sat there, waiting for the dinner to be ready.

Surprisingly, Blackpool was very snowy that year. She had been given a chance to use a car to get to work every day, since her sister’s office location didn’t require any sort of transportation. She had already had a problem once when the vehicle wouldn’t start because of a sudden temperature decrease. Luckily, a new colleague was there to help her. She also had to scratch the front window every morning. She helped Nathan, her sister’s fiancé, with shovelling the driveway several times as well. It was safe to say the winter had hit them pretty hard.

It had been only a week since she left, yet her longing kept growing bigger. She’d begun missing London the minute she put her foot on a Blackpool’s street and learned how much her friends meant to her when she saw Lily’s face at the station. Her sister was always taller and slimmer than her, despite being two years younger. Unlike Molly, she had a dark blonde hair and blue eyes. They used to joke about this with their parents; their dad had always said that _a switch must have taken place in the hospital and they took the wrong girl_. Lily and Nathan had a small house, similar to the one Molly had left in London, but much more dim. Molly disliked the walls in the “washed-up” colours and peas-green couch. But they had a fireplace and lots of their photos on the mantelpiece, which kept reminding her of the loss she’d been through recently. Her room, however, was painted cream and Molly decorated it with her own bed covers and souvenirs from home. Like the photo they took on Sherlock’s birthday, with his eye brow stitched, one eye completely red, wearing _the Sherlock Holmes’s hat_. The world’s only consultant detective didn’t look pleased, unlike John and Molly who smiled wholeheartedly. But she knew he’d enjoy that afternoon. He seemed lighter, despite the struggle he’d been going through. She knew how difficult it had been for him to discover and manage all the feelings that’d hit him like a wave. She’d let him be. As always.

The Christmas supper was lovely. Molly enjoyed Lily and Nathan’s company; her sister spotted her not entirely cheerful mood, though. Molly knew Lily wasn’t going to tell anything for now, not on a holiday, but she thought she should find a way to cheer up, otherwise she would bring a hailstorm of questions on herself in the upcoming days. She didn’t have to look too far; _the way_ came to her during the Boxing Day.

The next morning she woke up early, certain that she would be the first one. Once she came down, she noticed her roommates already engaged in a conversation. It turned out they both had finished their breakfast and present opening routine, and were planning on going for a walk. They invited her, but she politely declined their offer. She greeted the opportunity to be left alone with her thoughts with a relief.

She was sitting near the Christmas tree, on the floor, looking through old family photos with a cup of tea on the table. Lily and Nathan were ready to go out.

“Molly!” Lily suddenly exclaimed, epiphany visible on her face. “I almost forgot!”

Molly frowned.

“What?”

Lily turned around in the hallway and began to dig in the big wardrobe placed there. She stepped into the living room after a minute.

“This came in the post a couple of days ago.”

She handed Molly a small brown package with her name and current address. Molly tore up the outer layer to see a Christmas present wrapped in a red, starry paper and tied with a golden bow. Despite the address label on the brown paper, the package had an additional tag: _Dearest Molly Hooper - SH_. She froze, unable to stop staring at the gift.

“What’s better on the Boxing Day than a surprise gift, right?”, Lily asked, winked and left with Nate.

Molly touched the paper carefully, almost with a worshiper’s admiration in her eyes. Regardless of being handled by the mail and kept in a closet, the paper had a faint scent of his cologne. His handwriting was unexpectedly clean. _He put an effort in it_ , she thought. She untangled the bow and carefully peeled off both ends of the paper at the bottom. The box consisted of a creamy envelope titled _Clueless_ and a cup with a saucer, which she recognised right away. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

She’d thought she accidentally broke the cup while cleaning or gave it to Tom for some reason. It was one of her favourite cups: made of a creamy porcelain, with dark blue patterns, not too heavy, nor too light, very handy. She’d claimed tea tasted better in this one. It immediately made her smile.

There also was a note at the bottom of the box:

_I thought it would be the right time to return it. I apologise for keeping it for that long._

_Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper_

She reached for the envelope. It wasn’t glued. She opened it, seeing a piece of paper inside. It was definitely a music sheet, titled the same as the envelope. But was it about her? Was she the _clueless_ one? Molly couldn’t believe this theory. Sherlock had definitely overcome the “insulting” phase of their relationship. _Could it be dedicated for me?_ , she thought on balance. The notion that he would wrote a piece for her widened her eyes.

Molly, however, felt immediately guilty as she hadn’t thought of a present for Sherlock that year. She’d tried to restrain herself from any forms of affection after _that_ Christmas and in the result, she’d been giving him mostly impersonal things, like cufflinks or calendars (which he didn’t need anyway). It was the first time he gave her anything at this level of effort. And the song, that could be possibly for her... John once mentioned something called _The Woman’s Song_ , but Sherlock glared at him angrily and Watson cut it off. Molly suspected that Sherlock, indeed, had had an affair, whatever it had meant in his case, as the doctor and Mrs Hudson had once mentioned _a heartbreak_ as well.

Molly pressed the music sheet against her chest and crossed her arms with the new-old cup in one hand, making it look as if she hugged the song.

The tea on the table was cold.

* * *

Molly glanced at the dashboard. The clock showed seventeen minutes past ten in the morning. Everything was going according to the plan. She didn’t even mind being stuck in the traffic.

Why was she nervous, then?

She kept looking at her phone as if someone were to discover the truth and call. When stuck in traffic jams, she kept checking in her memory, whether she’d taken everything she wanted for this trip. She came to the same conclusion every time: nothing was missing. Every present taken, every necessary piece of clothing packed. Not that she thought about dressing up in anyway. In the moments of inner peace, she even managed to smile.

The truth was, she couldn’t wait to see Baker Street. To knock on the door 221B. To climb the creaky stairs to the first floor. To inhale the specific mix of gunpowder, coffee and wood. Her heart was pounding faster at the thought of being there, at the pictures in her head: the always messy kitchen, the two chairs, the knife stabbed in the mantelpiece, the wall as a bullpen.

She arrived at her old flat at eleven thirty. The view made her smile, but she really wished she’d had it sold it by this time. Not that she was out of money, she simply felt like this was still her last string to London, something to give her hope for a different ending. She didn’t want that and she couldn’t imagine her life without it.

She unpacked several things, including some food, and ate a piece of carrot cake Lily made. Anxiety began to take over. _What if he shows up with her?_ \- that thought couldn’t let go of her during the shower. She had to be prepared for such possibility. She couldn’t forget that text in the lab. _She must be fascinating and definitely gorgeous_ , Molly thought, combing her hair after putting a make-up. She might not have been a beauty herself, but she had an undeniable influence on his life and personal development. Wasn’t that more? Molly brushed off her shirt. In a way, it was more. She accepted her role of the overlooked, hidden in the shadow of the great one. She only hoped her appearance would affect him, preferably in a positive way.

She showed up at John Watson’s doorstep at five. She took a deep breath and knocked.

“Oh, holy mother of... Molly!” That shout was definitely a happy one as it came with a wide smile and a hug. “I didn’t think you’d come!”

“I said I’d make it for birthdays, especially Rosie’s,” she replied, unable to stop herself from smiling as well. “I couldn’t break the promise.”

John invited her inside. She followed him to the living room filled with only three people: Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and Rosie herself. She was sitting on the landlady’s lap, going through a children’s book. Holmes raised his head up, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes widened at Molly’s appearance.

“Hello, everyone,” she said shyly.

Mrs Hudson took the baby in her hands to stand up and hold Molly in a half-embrace. She was happy to see her as well. Molly felt comfortable and home-like right away. She missed every aspect of living in London and this flat brought back the memories of babysitting Rosie and many visits they’d all paid to help John after Mary had passed away. She felt nervous, however, seeing the way Sherlock was acting: uncomfortable and awkward. For a second, she thought she’d made a mistake by coming back there. He murmured something similar to “hello, Molly” eventually, but she felt unwelcomed by him.

Molly proceeded with greetings; she gifted the present to Rosie - a plush bunny and four new books - and sat down at the coffee table, making sure she would be far from Sherlock. Mrs Hudson, fortunately, engaged everybody in a conversation, talking about Baker Street and murders Sherlock and John solved lately. Molly didn’t need the update, she kept the track of their actions, but didn’t want to be exposed.

“So, Molly, how is your new job?”

She turned her head to Sherlock, whose voice sounded lighter and softer.

“Very engaging, that’s for sure,” she replied. “But not even half that interesting like the one I had at Bart’s.”

“Are thinking about moving back, then?”

Molly got confused.

“Well, no... I’ve got a contract. And I’m selling the house,” she replied.

“Oh... when are you selling it?” John asked, as surprised as the rest of the party.

“As a matter of fact, for a couple of days. I came here to stay for a week. The new owner is supposed to sign the deal on Friday.”

“So you’re really not coming back.” That wasn’t a question. Sherlock did what he hated the most: stated the obvious.

Molly didn’t understand why the conversation took an unexpected turn to heaviness. Her hands began to tremble and her lips formed a nervous smile. Why did she react like this? And, more importantly, why did Sherlock start a conversation? He wasn’t a person eager to engage in social interactions, so... why now?

“That’s been the plan all along,” she replied. “But, as I said, I’ll be visiting you very often. See, it’s only been two months and I’m here again.” She paused for a while, considering her next words. “Besides...” she started, feeling the heartbeat in her chest getting stronger, “I bet you’ll be so busy you won’t notice if I’m not here for long.”

She gazed straight at him and his blue eyes widened, but he wouldn’t look away. One of his hands held the saucer, the other - the cup. It reminded her of the Christmas present and the small package she left in the boot. And the envelope she had in her handbag.

Molly cleared her throat.

“I meant with your cases, of course.”

“Of course.” He spotted her lie, but couldn’t figure out what was on her mind.

Mrs Hudson and John looked at each other questioningly.

“Anyone wants some more tea?” Molly stood up and walked out of the living room, receiving no answer.

It was around eight when everyone expressed their will to get back home. Mrs Hudson and Sherlock were about to catch a cab, but Molly offered them a ride.

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to trouble you,” the landlady replied, caressing Molly’s hand.

“It will be no trouble at all,” she said. “And I’ll be happy to spend more time with you.”

Once they got in, it was mostly Mrs Hudson’s voice which fulfilled the interior of the car. She sat in the front seat and couldn’t stop talking about the scandalous things her only resident had done during last two months. Sherlock remained quiet in the back, one elbow on the window, looking at the buildings, lost in thoughts. Molly tried to guess whether he finally deduced what she meant back at John’s and it seemed possible that he had. She tried not to get nervous again so Mrs Hudson wouldn’t stop talking. She didn’t want more awkwardness. She’d had lot of it after the damn call.

Molly pulled over at 221B Baker Street.

“Thank you, dear, that was very thoughtful of you,” said Mrs Hudson. “Would you like to come by for a cuppa?”

“Oh, no, thank you, it’s late.” Molly felt odd at the thought that she could be left in a room with only Sherlock. “I’m tired. But I can come by tomorrow, if you like? I have absolutely nothing to do for the next seven days.”

“You’re always welcome at Baker Street, my dear.” Mrs Hudson unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. “Have a good night, and drive home safely.”

But Sherlock didn’t move in the backseat. Molly looked in the rearview mirror, seeing him as lost in thoughts as he was during the entire journey. The landlady had already been inside the house.

“Sherlock?”, Molly asked softly.

His eyes turned directly to the mirror and their gazes met.

“Is everything okay?”

He unbuckled his seatbelt, no changes on his face.

“Yes. Thank you, Molly.”

He exited the car and Molly watched as he disappeared behind the door with number 221B.

* * *

_HELP. Baker Str, as soon as possible. - SH_

Molly stood up from the couch immediately. She was supposed to visit her friends earlier, but she didn’t feel like getting in touch with the outside world, so she was melting her brain into tapioca while watching _trash telly_. But the moment her phone dinged, she dressed up and get into the Lily’s car. Sherlock Holmes had to have a serious reason to text her for help.

She passed at least two red light stops, nearly killed a man on a crosswalk and stormed into Sherlock’s flat with her bun messy not in the “trendy” way, cushion stamped on her right cheek, in pyjama bottoms and the ugliest T-shirt she could find in her wardrobe. She topped all of that with vibrant yellow jacket, making her look like a homeless man pretending to be a refuse collector. In the middle of the room Sherlock stood with Rosie crying in his hands.

“Oh. It’s you. Thank you for arriving so quickly.” He handed her the girl, ignoring the half-sleepy, half-confused look on her face. “She’s crying.”

“Yes, it’s hard to miss,” Molly said.

She took a closer look at the young Watson. She had rosy cheeks, way too rosy. Molly grabbed her tiny hands and then placed a hand on her forehead. She was burning.

“Sherlock, I think she’s ill,” Molly said, trying to swing on her own legs to soothe Rosie. “John needs to take her to a... doctor.”

“You’ve studied medicine, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m a pathologist now, I cannot prescribe her anything. What’s John doing anyway?”

“He was called to fill in for some other doctor and had no one else to leave her with.”

 _That must have been a real crisis_ , she thought.

“All right, what about Mrs Hudson?”

“Apparently, she went out with her... _girlfriends_ , according to her own words.”

Sherlock was observing her as she was swinging funnily on her legs, while frantically trying to find a resolution.

“Can’t we just take her to John?” Holmes asked.

“I don’t know... he’s not a paediatrician, after all.” Her brain was still a bit in the tapioca state and no wise answer was eager to pop into her head. “Do you have any sort of meds here?”

“Well...”

“No, meth’s not going to do it,” she replied and both of them chuckled. She hoped he didn’t get back to using, though. “Okay, I think the best thing we can do is to try to bring her fever down with some over-the-counter meds. One of us could use my car to find a pharmacy and buy some temporary treatment.”

“Can this person be me? I don’t think I’ll stand another minute in this noise.”

Molly reached to her jacket pocket and pulled the car keys out. She handed them to Sherlock. He put on his coat and scarf, turned around before walking away and glanced at her.

“Thank you.”

She flashed him a pale smile.

He went out and she was left with really loudly crying baby.

“All right, cutie, we’ll take care of you.”

She sat Rosie down on the couch to take off her own yellow jacket. Rosie, however, wasn’t interested in sitting; she slid down to stand on the floor and escaped to the kitchen before Molly managed to turn away from the coat rack.

“Rosie!”

There was a dead silence; even the crying stopped. The mix of complete silence and children is usually explosive, so Molly looked around but couldn’t find the young Watson until she heard the sound of shattering glass from the next room. She ran to find her goddaughter with the remains of a test tube in her tiny hands. She took it away from her, causing another wave of wailing, and lifted her, taking the farthest she could from the glass shards. The only place that seemed suitable was... Sherlock’s bedroom.

She’d been there only once, when she mistakenly took it for the bathroom (she suspected that a bottle of champagne had something to do with that). It was surprisingly neat: one double bed, Mendeleev’s periodic table, a cupboard, a desk with a chair and a separate door to the bathroom. No mess or signs of experiments. Having no better resolution in mind, she entered it and placed Rosie on the bed. She seemed to be slowly getting better but she still didn’t look good. Molly hoped Sherlock would take his goddaughter’s age into account, because she needed at least something to get rid off of the fever. Molly sat at the bed next to the young Watson, caressing the soft skin on her cheeks. Her crying turned into sobbing and finally stopped. Molly wrapped Rosie thoroughly with Sherlock’s cover to make sure the little one wouldn’t lose too much of warmth.

If Molly had ever imagined being in Sherlock’s bedroom, it definitely wouldn’t be in such circumstances.

“Molly?” Holmes’s muffled voice came from somewhere around the living room.

Doctor Hooper opened a crack in the door and said:

“Here!”

Sherlock walked into the bedroom a while later, apparently intending to make a remark about entering his room, but once noticed half-asleep Rosie, he exhaled.

“Sorry,” Molly whispered. “I didn’t want to intrude your privacy, it’s just... Rosie started getting interested in all this lab equipment in your kitchen, she broke a tube and I didn’t want for her to get hurt, and-“

“That’s all right,” he replied. “There is no better place here for her to rest anyway.”

Molly noticed a shopping bag in Sherlock’s hand - it was full of probably all the meds he could find in the pharmacy.

“That’s some stash,” she commented, giggling and pointing at it.

“Well, I didn’t trust the pharmacist because she had a pretty dull look on her face and, judging by the book she was reading, not much of a brain either, so I purchased all the drugs for children I could find.”

Molly chuckled. She found it lovely of him.

“One of us has to stay here,” she whispered. “You know, so she won’t roll out of the bed. But don’t worry, you can get back to... whatever you were doing, I can sit here with her until John comes back.”

“I was supposed to take care of her, not you,” he whispered back. “She’s my responsibility. I am... grateful you responded so quickly and helped me.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Molly beamed, trying to restrain herself from gazing at him for too long. But then, before she could stop herself, she added: “Helping you is always a pleasure.”

She couldn’t find the courage to look up at him again, so she pretended to fix the cover on Rosie and heard the door closing behind Sherlock.

She sighed and sat cross-legged on the bed, not letting her goddaughter out of her sight. The room seemed too dark for her so she stood up to turn on a small lamp on the desk. She returned to her previous position and a couple of minutes later Sherlock’s figure appeared in the room with two tea cups. He sat on the opposite side of the bed and handed one of the cups to Molly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Looks like we’ve managed to bring the situation under control. Well, you have. You can leave now, if you want.”

Molly moved her eyes up to him.

“Would you... _like_ _me_ to leave?”

Sherlock was looking her straight in the eye and waited a moment before he answered.

“No. I would very much like you to stay.”

Molly sipped her tea.

“All right,” she responded, trying not to smile. “It’s better for you to have help in case she wakes up before John comes back. I know I’m not a real doctor, but I can definitely administer meds.”

Sherlock smiled, but it looked like smiling to one of his memories. They both remained quiet for a while, drinking tea and looking at the sleeping baby.

“I haven’t told you about one thing.”

Molly’s body woke up; she wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the tea or his words, but her heartbeat quickened. She blinked, waiting for the upcoming words.

“I haven’t told you about the time I’ve been shot.”

She frowned.

“I visited you at the hospi-“

“Yes, I know but I meant the part of what was going in my brain in that precise moment.”

“Oh.” She sipped her tea. “Then you haven’t.”

“Apparently, the shot initiated an alarm in my mind palace. I had to analyse the facts really quickly, so, many information I’d had started gathering in one place and I needed someone to clear things up for me. I thought you would feel nice to know that the first person I saw were you.”

She stopped halfway to the cup and stared at Sherlock wordlessly. She couldn’t utter a single word and looked genuinely astonished.

“Me?” she asked in a weak voice.

“Well, apparently, my brain had remembered your slaps very well because they were keeping me alive. Your knowledge- actually, _my knowledge_ as well, helped me decide which way to fall, restrain myself from getting into shock and survive the pain.”

She tried to imagine the scenery in his head, but the feelings blocked her reasonable thinking. All she could think about was the place she’d taken in his mind palace. As if she was a symbol of intelligence and trust. His brain had chosen her to lead him through the most difficult moment in his life and she couldn’t help feeling anything but honour and pride.

“I know that this information may seem unrelated and irrelevant, but I thought you would like to know.”

Molly blinked quickly.

“You thought right. It- it really feels nice to know.”

A wave of warmth flooded her body as she felt Sherlock’s stare on her. She returned to drinking the tea, putting a lot of effort in pretending that she wasn’t affected by this that much. Being with him in one room, however, reminded her of the present she’d gotten. _Clueless_. Since his brain considered her a knowledgeable person, it couldn’t be about her. She was going to ask him about it, but then she remembered about the small package in her boot. She doubted she would have a better opportunity to do it.

“I wanted to thank you for the present you sent me for Christmas,” she said after a short pause. “It was lovely. I thought I’d broken it a long time ago.”

“It had been my favourite back then when I used to come to you, looking for a shelter.”

 _A shelter_.

“But I felt guilty because I hadn’t thought about it and... I’ll just show you. Just wait here.”

She put away the tea on the nightstand and stormed out of the bedroom, looking for the keys. She checked Sherlock’s coat and found them, amongst of a lot of papers and weird contraptions. She took a step towards the exit and almost bumped into...

“John!”

His face beamed.

“Molly! You’re here?”

She felt caught red-handed, despite having done nothing suspicious.

“Yes, massive crying emergency,” she replied. “Sherlock texted me. Your daughter is feverish, so it’s good thing you’ve come back already.”

“Oh, God... where is she?”

“With Sherlock. In his bedroom.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“My idea.”

“Makes sense now.”

She smiled as he walked off, but she knew the moment was gone. Sherlock entered the main room a while after John walked into his bedroom. Holmes looked at her with a smirk. It seemed he wanted to say something, but doctor Watson came back with her daughter, now fully awaken.

“I gave her one of the meds you bought,” John said. “Thank you, both of you, for taking care of her.”

“No problem,” Molly replied. “If you want, I can drop you off at your flat. It’s probably better for Rosie anyway.”

“Oh, Molly, you’re a lifesaver...”

Sherlock smiled under his nose, which Molly noticed right away. She bid him goodbye several minutes later as John and Rosie were ready to leave.

* * *

During the next days Molly visited Baker Street rather often, if not even on a daily basis. Everyone seemed to be interested in spending time with her while she was in London. John and Sherlock caught a case that was supposed to be a big one but turned out to be a huge disappointment. Sherlock was visibly vexed by the lack of stimulants. Lestrade offered him a couple of cases but he rejected them as well. He seemed to be unable to find an ease.

She thought a lot about her place in his mind palace. Apparently, she was pretty important. She knew he’d respected her since that fall but to be _that_ important? _Well, he said he loved me like a family..._ , she thought. And family’s important. That reminded her about Lily and Nate, and about the house that was still in her hands. But not for long.

She felt glad and disappointed at the same time. She wasn’t against getting the cash injection but even money couldn’t make up for the loss of the memories. Selling the house was the final act in her journey towards her new life. She was going to cut the last string leading her to London. She knew she wouldn’t be able to feel at home anywhere else. Maybe except for Baker Street, thanks to the always open door and friends who kept dropping by.

Sunday was pretty sunny, almost incredulously for London. The thought about Blackpool’s humidity and its grey sea waters, along with the fluorescent bulbs of her new, crazy-well equipped laboratory made her day gloomy, though. She made a decision to use the fine weather to soak up London atmosphere to have some reserve after her leave. Walking through the alleys of the city gave her a buzz of vitamin D and a spark of hope - that she would eventually come back here one day. Maybe when she would be old?

She patted the small box in her handbag before she entered the house on Baker Street with the number 221B on the door.

Her expectations met reality when she saw Sherlock half-lying in one chair with his feet placed on the other. He was still in his grey pyjama and blue dressing down. He seemed lost in thoughts, to the point of being oblivious of her presence for at least four minutes. She spent the time watching his still body, with pale skin and long fingers entwined on his chest. She doubted Sherlock had ever combed his hair, though the mess only added to his boyish charm. He seemed so calm, so unlike his real self, the frantic, nervous, emotional person she’d always known. There was a knife stabbed in the mantelpiece again. It could on mean one thing: it wasn’t a relax - Sherlock was working.

“How much have you deduced by now?”

Her voice made him jump, which was very unusual. The surprise in his eyes was the best evidence of his engagement in case-solving matters.

“How long have you stood there?” He blinked in confusion.

“Long enough to notice that you’re busy, so I’m not going to take too much of your time.”

She smiled understandingly and looked at the second chair, theoretically belonging to John.

“May I sit?”

“Yes, of course, please.”

He took his bare feet off the seat and glued his eyes into her as soon as she sat. She inhaled in order to start her monologue but then she began to take off her clothes.

“Sorry. It’s a bit hot in here.”

She took off her jacket and scarf. She waited a moment before she spoke.

“I told you last Tuesday that I felt guilty about not getting you any present for Christmas. Yours was... absolutely lovely. That’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay. There is no art I can make in the lab or the morgue. I can’t sing, I know nothing about music. But... I wanted to thank you. No one has ever wrote a musical piece for me.”

She found the courage to look at him. He was focused, listening to every sound she made. She reached to her handbag and pulled out the small box.

“I couldn’t do anything even slightly as beautiful but I didn’t forget about your birthday. So... a very late happy birthday, Sherlock.”

She handed him the present and he looked genuinely astonished. He was glaring at it but couldn’t make himself open it.

“You don’t have to look at it now. No worries. I just came here to give it to you... and quickly say goodbye.”

He raised his head up, locking their eyes.

“I’m coming back to Blackpool.”

He swallowed.

“And you’ve... sold the house, I presume?”

“Yes.”

They both fell silent. Sherlock was awfully quiet, she’d never seen him like this before. Although she didn’t intend to stay long to shorten her suffering, she couldn’t leave it. It would bother her all the way back to Blackpool.

“Sherlock, is everything all right?”

He visibly hesitated but nodded his head.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

She was worried because she spotted his lie, but decided to let it go; she didn’t want him to do something against his will. She stood up, squinting her eyes from the sunshine flooding the flat. He followed; she realised how much she liked him in this blue dressing gown. And in the brown one. He seemed softer and more human in both of them. Vulnerable. Reachable.

She hesitantly stuck out her hand and touch the material gently, stroking it with an admiration and smile on her face. Sherlock stood still, as if afraid of moving and scaring her off. She could feel the tension of his muscles.

“You always look lovely in these,” she said quietly.

They both rolled up their eyes, locking them. Sherlock looked pale, a bit frightened. Her smile faded; she began to think about many bad things he could say.

“I have to tell you something.”

She didn’t move a muscle. He seemed determined to remember every detail of her eyes.

“You are a person of many traits, most of them I’ll never have. You’re the most selfless person I know. You’re intelligent, courageous, trustworthy, dedicated, sensitive, lovable. You’re someone worthy of every minute spent with.” Sherlock paused, as in an attempt to sound more self-confident. “I’ve been trying to persuade myself that it’s just a chemical reaction in my brain. _A human error_. Because I know I’m not the kind of ‘boyfriend’ you’d like to have. I’m not going to bring you flowers or chocolates, won’t take you for a romantic trip. I’m married to my work. I’m a drug addict, currently in another remission stage. I am an utter cock. I need puzzles to get my overactive brain busy. I love solving crimes and I know that everyone close to me is in a huge danger, because I tend to cross boundaries and risk everything when I follow a lead. And I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you, regardless of my fault.” His look was getting softer. “I’m against marriage, although the idea of having children is not so bad for me. I have the tendency to be dramatic and impulsive. I often say awful things and don’t even realise it. And you know it better than anyone.” _She felt it._ Her heartbeat race like in madness. “So, I’ve been trying to persuade myself that it’s just for a moment, that my brain will finally give it up. The chemistry will run out and I’ll be at peace again. But that didn’t happen. Since that bloody phone call, I can’t stop feeling guilty over what I’ve done to you, how much I’ve hurt you. And at the same time, the idea of you being happy without me is even worse. I can’t forget how I felt in that precise moment. Every piece of the puzzle found its place. It’s selfish, so I don’t expect you to understand, but I still hope that you’re very unhappy in that bloody Blackpool, because I hate coming to the morgue and having to deal with those halfbrainiacs.” Molly tried to gather her thoughts but found none. “What I’m trying to say is that you let me be myself, no matter what, without any judgement and I think that the state that I’m in allows me to tell you these words sincerely: _I love you_. You’ve discovered a part of me I wasn’t aware of. I know my flaws and I haven’t got the foggiest idea how we could make it work but I can’t find an ease without you.”

Could it be _it_? Could it be _real_? She’d dreamed about it, even more after the call, but never actually believed it could happen. Not after he’d stated she was like family to him. She kept looking at him with incredulity taking over her body, trembling. She felt swept off of her knees despite standing still in one place, not moved by an inch. She inhaled, trying to get her voice back.

“You say you know your flaws... But do you know your virtues?” she asked. “Beyond the huge intellect of yours, there’s a man with a big heart. Loyal to his friends. Protective. With a fantastic sense of humour. Caring. Pursuing justice because do you, at least a bit.” Molly made a pause to find a smirk on this face. “I don’t want any flowers or chocolates, or romantic trips for that matter. I know who I’ve loved. You’re not perfect but neither am I and you’ll get to see it for yourself if you... decide to give us a chance. I think you know very well how I feel about you and I don’t have to explain that to you. If you wish to try... I promise I’ll do everything to make it work.”

It was a wonder: she saw him smiling so widely like she’d never seen before. Contagious as it was, she beamed herself, unable to stop a little giggle to slip out of her lips.

“And I’ll do everything to be at least a decent boyfriend.”

Sherlock didn’t let her out of his sight, as if trying to remember every detail of her irises.

“Would a decent boyfriend kiss his girlfriend right now?” he muttered in a low voice.

Molly chuckled.

“Yes, definitely.”

He leaned forward very carefully and slowly. He locked her face in his palms and pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and a bit shy but made Molly dizzy. Her heart was pounding so quickly and so heavily she was sure Sherlock could hear it from such a close proximity. She didn’t want it to end. The well-known, pleasant warmth fulfilled her body, encouraging her to do more. But before she could reach his back, he stopped.

When he pulled back, he opened his eyes and looked a bit overwhelmed himself.

“There is one problem, though,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I’ve never actually had a sexual intercourse with anyone.” There was no shame in his voice. It was just a regular statement.

“I’ve expected it,” she replied, shrugging. “That is no problem at all.”

“But I’ve seen things.”

Molly laughed out loud.

“I’m sure!”

“And I’d like to keep us a secret as long as possible. For safety.”

“Well... that’s going to be a problem, then.” She frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve sold the house and I have no place to live.”

“But you have to return to Blackpool anyway, is that right? To arrange everything?”

“Yes. I think that it would be the wisest to wait until the end of the trial period of my contract, which is in June. I think it’s going to be a fantastic test. You’ll be able to take cases without putting me in harm’s way. I’ll be coming on weekends. I have no idea as to where I’ll be sleeping but still.”

She imagined her visits on the Baker Street from now on. They would have to pretend they work on a case so Mrs Hudson nor John wouldn’t suspect anything. They would sneak out to the bedroom... or just sit in front of the fireplace. She wouldn’t mind reading in John’s chair with Sherlock throwing around his new theories.

“I can always consider a case away,” he said. “I’m perfectly sure they have murderous bastards out there in Blackpool.” That smirk of his was driving her crazy. In the good way.

She imagined his visits in Blackpool. They would have to pretend they work on a case so her sister wouldn’t suspect anything. They would sneak out... but where to? She didn’t want to spoil her own mood right then.

Molly beamed.

“Oh, tones of them, actually.”

Sherlock kissed her again, this time longer. It seemed as if he was fascinated by this new activity. His hands slid across her body, caressing her back, exploring her neck. That bedroom of his... she wouldn’t mind it but she knew that John could drop by anytime. He used to come more often on Sundays to help Sherlock on his cases.

“Besides, how do you know I want to move back? Maybe I like my new job and Blackpool?” she teased.

“No, you don’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” She was almost offended by it but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Because you never talk about it. Never even mentioned your new colleagues. You haven’t even bought anything new in Blackpool because you’re still emotionally attached to things you’ve brought from London.”

“Well, I don’t talk about my job because I know from my personal experience that people usually don’t like listening to corpse-related stories.” A memory of a certain Christmas day came to her mind.

“I do,” he replied.

“Yes, but you’re not usual in any sense of this word.”

“I guess that’s why I love _the_ pathologist. So we can outrage everyone with our gallows humour.”

“And to think you said I shouldn’t make jokes...”

“Sherlock!”

Mrs Hudson stormed into the room and they both jumped, moving the farthest from each other they could without looking suspicious. Sherlock placed a finger on his upper lip as usually when he tried to figure something out, and leaned down. Molly dashed to the kitchen, pretending to be looking for tea. Holmes looked up at his landlady.

“What were you doing here? I was calling you to ask if you want a cuppa and...”

“Hello, Mrs Hudson!” Molly emerged from the kitchen, smiling. “Sorry, we were talking really loud and...”

“Oh, Molly! It’s good I caught you before-“

“Sherlock, I’ve texted you ten times and-”

Doctor Watson stopped, looking suspiciously at the two of them.

“What are you doing?”

“Discussing a case.”

They looked at each other, surprised by their synchronisation. John frowned.

“You, Molly? Discussing _a case_ with Sherlock?” His detective instinct wouldn’t let him believe their lousy story.

“Yeah, he was convinced that bruising on a corpse show up after twenty minutes but we’ve checked it a couple of years ago and I wanted to remind him that it takes at least thirty minutes,” she replied in the most convincing tone she could make.

“Yeah, a corpse can be really annoying.” He tried to not look at her. “Stall my work on purpose.”

John, though reluctant to believe their story, began to talk about their latest case developments. Every time John or Mrs Hudson looked away, Sherlock managed to glance at Molly, flashing her the sweetest smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it! The end of the story! I hope you're not disappointed. I know that you probably hoped for more action but I'm not good at action... dialogues are my thing. At least in my opinion. And the emotional parts, but those look better when I use my native language.
> 
> But worry not, my friends! I have an idea about what I could put in the next part in this "universum"/"series". Would you be willing to read it? Share your opinion in the comments!
> 
> And thank you for all the kudos(es?), subscriptions, bookmarks and COMMENTS, of course. You've made me smile incredibly often. ❤️


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